


Ipseity

by playbychoices



Series: Ethereal & Ineffable [1]
Category: Desire & Decorum (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Friends, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23063629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playbychoices/pseuds/playbychoices
Summary: Ipseity:(n.) Selfhood - The quality of being one's self; the essential element of individual identity.Persephone Mills contains multitudes; her individual identity dissected and neatly boxed into several parts. She is the daughter of a duke, she is a bastard child of the Chinese empire, she is an engineer and a dreamer, she is a runner in the woods, she is collateral of her father and step-mother's civil war, she is smarter than her brothers, she feels angry more often than not, and  so it is fitting that she is named after the Goddess of Spring as well as the Queen of the Underworld.She is all these things. But she is not unified.(Chapters are episodic; will likely be written out of chronological order. When series is done, I'll make a version of this within chronological order)
Relationships: Ernest Sinclaire/Main Character (Desire & Decorum)
Series: Ethereal & Ineffable [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657501
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Blood in the Water

**Author's Note:**

> An AU: AU: Persephone was raised by her single father, and has lived with all of the Mills and Marlcasters all her life. However, this world she was born into is not as stable or clear-cut as Persephone once thought her home, or her own family, to be.
> 
> MC is named Persephone Mills and she is half-Chinese. Large parts of this were originally written during the end of Book 1, so a lot of reveals are not accounted for and will not be corrected (eg. the Foredale surname is instead the fanon Mills, Mrs. Daly being revealed as a woman of color is instead a white woman in an interracial marriage, etc.) 
> 
> This series' chapters are not likely to be updated in chronological order. Chapters are largely episodic in nature.
> 
> This series would not be possible without the encouragement of @hellospunkiebrewster on tumblr. I wanted to pass the buck off to her on anon because I don't have the time to consistently update a series, but I messed that up, and she crawled into my DMs to try to convince myself to write it and ended up stuck with me forever as her new digital sister. I love you, Carmen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Countess Dominique needs something more of the midwife since the baby’s birth. (A bit of exposition as to how this au came to be, its concerns, and a peek at how I’ll still include certain characters to be involved in this au.)

* * *

Mrs. Daly paced along the shore of the Edgewaters estate’s lake, her arms crossed tight into herself and fingers picking and pinching at the seams of her sleeves. It wasn’t often for a midwife to be invited back to a home after a birth, much less one that was such a tragedy as last night’s. Nonetheless, she came when called. Her husband stayed within a shout away, their babe at a friend’s home for the hour; proper precautions had been carried out since her nerves had told her to never trust one who may view a loss as the result of her actions, and she had been blessed with a husband who consistently listened to such worries as valid concerns.

She tried to calm herself with the lake, focusing and listing details of it to herself as a means of distraction. It was perfectly circular, and as still as metal with the exception of birds and fish occasionally disturbing it with ripples. The lake didn’t quite reflect the sky perfectly, showing instead a more tear-like color than a perfect mirror. Mrs. Daly took in a deep breath as she kept pacing, the strict care of the grounds left everything soft and delicate to touch. No weeds. Nothing unseemly or worth avoiding. It unnerved Mrs. Daly, not even her own or her husband’s hands were as soft as this overcared foliage, she’d hesitate to even say her own babe was as soft as the stems of the nearby roses, devoid of any thorns. Well, at least money couldn’t cover the common smell of a lake, it was still as earthy and musky as the one by her village, which made her feel a bit more at home at least. It’s depths were certainly too clear though. No water besides that of which to pour into one’s glass should be so clear.

 _‘I wonder if they paid the insects to avoid this place.’_ She noted her lack of having to bat anything away from her eyes. _‘I don’t know how one is expected to survive in a place so fair and free of anything foul. There must be hardship in life in order to enjoy it, or else God plays favorites quite cruelly.’_

Mrs. Daly turned around to pace along the edge once more, when she heard a voice behind her, as sharp and quiet as a needle. “I thank you for coming at such short notice, Mrs. Daly.” The Countess of the Estate, Dominique, came dressed in black but without any sadness in her face.

Mrs. Daly pursed her lips together, and looked back down before judgement could pass by her features. She nodded. “I am sorry for your loss, Countess. I pray there is some means of care for the infant already in place?”

“Naturally.” The Countess cocked her head to direct towards the home. “May I ask that you sit with me inside?”

Mrs. Daly’s fingers tighten her grip onto her sleeves, and she makes a sidestep to look out onto the lake as she lied, “My husband expects me to stay in the area whilst he commits to errands.”

The Countess frowned and her eyebrows pushed together. “At Edgewater?”

“Please forgive the audacity, but does his business concern our conversation, m’am?”

The Countess turned towards the waters, her eyes rolling. “I suppose not, Mrs. Daly.” She saw Mrs. Daly has not moved her own eyes from the lake and sighed quietly, almost too subtle to notice if not for their proximity. “Are you aware of what our conversation does concern of?”

“The infant, I assume.”

“Persephone Mills.” The Countess corrected. At a glance of Mrs. Daly’s expression, the Countess smiled.

Mrs. Daly quickly closed her slack jaw and returned to looking forward, her cheeks blossoming red in embarrassment of her own open judgement. Such judgement not from a holy place was a sin, she reminded herself; before smiling a little bit herself at the tangential memory of her husband kissing the corner of her pout, cooing how much he adored the lack of guessing her thoughts. She tucked a hair behind her ear.

“I fully comprehend how rash it is to name a child so soon.” The Countess seemed similarly pleased by her face’s open reaction, her face was brighter now. “My son was insistent on naming her upon the mother’s suggestion after her death. He and I are still in the midst of taking every precaution that we are able of ensuring that she lives past the three year threshold.”

“With all due respect, m’am, the mother’s death doesn’t help with such matters. It’s normally advised to not name a babe, for fear of rash attachment, until that marker for good reason.”

“I agree, however my son is set that such attachment isn’t rash and is insistent upon her name’s usage already. He’s already very attached, the binding of shared trauma catalysting it, I think. He doesn’t want to humor the notion of that babe dying, she’s the last bit of his first wife he has now. And I hate to see my son hurt so.” The Countess turned towards Mrs. Daly fully, and Mrs. Daly mirrored. “Hence my calling you.”

“I’ve already done all I can for the child as a midwife, Countess. I’m not sure what else I may offer.”

“You’ve done more than I should have hoped for as a midwife, Mrs. Daly.” The Countess bowed her head, “I thank you immensely for saving Persephone. I understand completely that her mother was out of your hands.”

Mrs. Daly bunches her dress out of idleness, “God giveth and God taketh away, unfortunately.”

“Oh, that death was out of God’s hands too, I’m afraid.”

Mrs. Daly gasped, turning away from the lake finally, “M’am!” She heard a rustle in the woods and could see her husband’s face. Mrs. Daly bit her lip, flicking her wrist for him to hide still and released her bottom lip upon seeing his brown face covered in shadows again. “M’am,” She said more quietly, bending down to the Countess’ level but unable to keep eye contact with her, “You’re speaking of a grave sin occurring within your own sphere.”

“I’m well-aware of my implication, Mrs. Daly. I called upon your services that evening because I did not trust that doctor. I believe him to be confessing to the church as we speak of to what end his monetary greed has led him to.”

Mrs. Daly leaned away, a shaky hand on her heart. “Oh, heavens, m’am… Wh— Why inform me of such devilish rumors?”

The Countess leaned in, whispering, “In case they aren’t rumors, Mrs. Daly. I firmly believe it is your intervening presence that negated the doctor’s neglect of the babe from being fatal. Furthermore, Mrs. Daly, I fear the commissioner may try attempt to strike against baby Persephone.” She stood up straighter, “I’m sure the rumors have reached the common folk already, and you having seen the wife may have come to your own conclusions.”

“My husband is colored and I am white myself, m’am. I understand better than most that race has become secondary to love for your son as well, and I do not think of him or the child lesser for it than I see myself or my own babe.”

“So I’ve heard, it played part in my decision for employment.” The Countess paused, opening her fan. “Are you happy with him?”

Mrs. Daly’s shoulders relaxed a bit and her hands lowered, interlaced. “Immensely so, m’am.”

“I think my son and his late wife were the same.”

“I am deeply sorrowful for your loss again, m’am.”

“Tell me, Mrs. Daly, if you were in my son’s position, what precautions would you take for your child?”

Mrs. Daly stiffened at the thought, and her stomach turned over in her imagination of the fate, “Con— Contact his family for aide, I suppose. Seeing oneself in the people around you is important, I know. I’m unsure what else.”

“Contacting her maternal family is impossible. They still have residence in China and allowed their daughter to travel with her sponsor to sing opera in England. As far as I am concerned, she has no family.”

“Ah.” Mrs. Daly bundled and relaxed her dress in her hands. “I’m afraid I cannot bare to indulge you in such imaginations, m’am.” She thought of her husband, still watching. “I don’t think it wise to risk my fainting.”

“That is understandable. Not even I can think of my son’s current torture for long, see my husband still lives well on.” The Countess took in a sharp breath, “I worry at the thought of whom might have paid the doctor. I fear the length of the list.”

“Is long in length, you fear?”

“No. The opposite, in fact. But it contains solely those most intimate with the family. I fear of the announcement of a betrayal may cause my son’s hands to never leave his daughter. And with his father’s health failing, and there still being a desire for a male heir and ergo another wife so soon, and my sole son’s heart so…” The Countess’ hands trembled but her breathing was steady. She curled her fingers into her palms and straightened her posture, her presence losing its stern kindness in place of a quiet command. “This family, that baby, are in need of your services still, Mrs. Daly.”

Mrs. Daly blinked rapidly, “Pardon? M’am, I’m a midwife without a mother to tend to, I’m afraid I cannot prepare any form of comprehension to what you may be about to ask of me.”

“Mrs. Daly, I understand that commonly your involvement with a babe is complete after the birth and health of it and the mother is achieved. But as I have brought to your attention, Persephone’s health may still be at risk despite your rescue during her birth. She has yet to reach a full 24 hours of life, and the three year mark already feels a lifetime of stress away. I ask that you not leave this babe so soon after cutting the umbilical cord, please. For just not this child’s sake, but my own’s.”

“M’am…” One of Mrs. Daly’s feet fell back.

“I am unaware of the circumstances of your family upon your marriage, but when my son was married, he didn’t inform us… He didn’t inform me. His father will arrange his second for convenience, I’m sure, and I’m even more sure it will not be as happy as I imagine my son’s first one. But I want to be there. And to ensure that my son will… ‘be’ in attendance as well… I am willing to pay you any amount. I will do whatever you ask. Above all, I want to ensure my own son’s health, and to do that, I need you to ensure his daughter’s.”

“M’am, with all the due respect and decorum involved, I am a midwife. Not a nanny nor a wet nurse.”

“I am aware of the lowering of such a profession will mean to your independence. I am willing to compensate for that.”

“M’am, I cannot be a wet nurse, I have my own babe to care for.”

“I ask for the nanny position, we currently have a wet nurse and I was debating whether to employ a second one should I find a trustworthy employee. You do not have to be the secondary nurse. But I will pay compensation for the time taken from your babe as well. In addition, I’ll even allow you to bring her here so long as you prioritize Persephone’s safety. All I ask is for you to continue protecting that child’s health as you did last night, to not bend to payment and to inform me of attempts of bribery. Whatever you ask for I shall gift to the fullest extent of my abilities.”

Mrs. Daly looked towards her husband, feeling her heart rate increase with every plea. She could no longer breathe through her nose in order for any attempts to steady herself, but her gasps were still quiet. She attempts to steady her flushed face, or at least hope it to not be as red as she imagines.

“M’am, what if I ask for something perhaps outlandish?”

“I’d consider little to be such given the circumstances.”

“What if I was to ask for a promise of education?”

The Countess’ face pinched, “Considering what you are being hired for, I would scarcely allow you a two-year vacation for Finishing Sc—”

“No, m’am, not for myself but for my own babe. I want a promise for her to be educated just as well as your granddaughter. I want her to be capable of making connections towards a life better than my or my husband’s, m’am, and I know that, like your granddaughter, a half-bred child will face more difficulties than most to achieve such a status.”

“Do you ask for a dowry in addition?”

“A small one, if possible, m’am.”

“Your dictionary may differ than mine, Mrs. Daly, I must ask for clarification.”

“M’am. Anything that would warrant her a husband of good standing is what I ask.”

The Countess nodded, and she fanned herself slowly in deliberation. After a moment more, she asked, “As for your salary?”

“An average nanny salary would do, m’am. I need no further compensation besides my own daughter’s promise of a good future. I can assure you that no murderer would dissuade me from your granddaughter for even a moment’s hesitation if my child’s future could be equally as ensured.”

The Countess pressed the open fan against her left ear, before fanning herself again. “Is your daughter yet past the three year mark?”

“She is halfway there, m’am.” Mrs. Daly’s intertwined hands pressed against her own chest, “My husband has already been thinking of names too. I’ll admit I heard the late Mary Mills’ request last night, and I informed him of the suggestion, ‘Persephone’. We naturally aren’t thinking of the same name, however he has become quite enamored with the idea of a daughter named after something of nature as well.”

“Yes, your husband, will he need time for deliberation?”

Mrs. Daly shook her head, “I’m privileged to have a spouse who, uh, allows me freedom of profession.”

The Countess fanned herself again, briefly applying both hands to hold it before something of realization came across her face and she closed the fan, placing it back away. “Mmm. What if your child does not make it? What then?”

“Then, uhm,” Mrs. Daly tried to not imagine her baby Autumn or Briar or Clementine or Holly’s giggly squirms or happy claps, “my next child, I suppose.”

“If you do not have a second daughter for a second child, I’ll put that dowry into Persephone’s. I’ll not take it back out. But I shall still sponsor for a potential son’s education in its stead. And if your third child follows the second’s gender, I shall continue the accommodation. But I shall not bend to another change of accommodation should a third child be necessary if the first two fail and it is not of the same gender as the second, just so we’re in a mutual understanding.” She paused. “Does that seem too contrived for your understanding?”

“No, m’am, that seems reasonable.” Mrs. Daly picked at the seams of her sleeves, feeling her shoulders stiffen. “I shall need to make accommodations at my residence in order to become a nanny. May I postpone employment until tomorrow?”

The Countess paused, looking at the Estate carefully. “Mmmn.” She twiddled her thumbs for a mere moment before answering, “Yes. But know of my son’s protective, vulnerable nature. I’d give you more than tomorrow if it not for my concerns, due to his current inability to leave his daughter.” She smiled at the Estate before finally turning back to Mrs. Daly. “So, yes, come tomorrow. Do not expect much work, I don’t think. He’s already resistant enough to our current wet nurse’s turn with the babe. Feel at ease to have your own babe accompany you, the commonality might comfort him, I hope. I would assume it may take some time to earn his trust, and I want you to start on that front as soon as possible.”

“Yes, m’am.”

“Take note and be calm in the face of that, as of tomorrow, you are in my full security and employment. My husband, my son, nor any senior employee of the Estate are capable of discontinuing your employment. This is part due to the secrecy of your position, which you must not discount to anyone. Is that understood?”

“Yes, m’am.” Mrs. Daly bit her lip. “My husband?”

“So long as he doesn’t ask, I see not why it’s necessary to inform him. But if you are afraid of the damnation of lying to a spouse, you may so long as he isn’t the type to gossip.”

“He isn’t, I promise.”

“Good.” The Countess breathed out a long sigh, and her shoulders finally lowered to a relaxed state. “Good. That pleases me to hear.” She looked at Mrs. Daly for a moment, her eyes as careful a detailing stare as a praying mantis. “I look forward to your employment and to meeting Persephone’s first friend.”

Mrs. Daly blinks, eyes wide before crinkling into a smile, “Ah, they will be educated at about the same time.”

“By the same individuals until the same institution, no less.” The Countess nods, seeming brighter still at reading Mrs. Daly’s expression. “It will be good for Persephone not to be the only person she knows with parents of different heritages.”

“I am glad my daughter will not be alone in that either.” Mrs. Daly curtsies her ankles a bit awkwardly. “Uhm, thank you, m’am. My daughter and I shall meet you and your family tomorrow.”

The Countess nods, “Would you like to request a chaperone until your husband’s return?”

“I think myself quite safe at the moment, m’am. Thank you so much for the consideration though.”

The Countess’ lips pursed, “Even with a murderer on the loose?”

Mrs. Daly pauses, her smile disappearing as she was uncertain if that was meant to be a tease or not. “Uhm— y- yes, m’am.”

There was a shine in the Countess’ eye, something of a calm and sated predator, as she smiled. “I have high hopes for you, Mrs. Daly. You’ve exceeded my expectations of bravery. I hope you continue to be a good role model for my grandaughter.” The Countess takes a glance into the woods, and Mrs. Daly almost stops breathing at the thought of the Countess spotting Mr. Daly, but the Countess continues her private walk back to the Estate.

“Do be safe, Mrs. Daly.” The Countess twirled her fan in her left hand. “I’d hate to cause your husband concern so early into your new employment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Countess Dominque's dialogue is far more interesting in this chapter if you look into the secret language of fans.
> 
> GIF CREDIT: @keirahknightley, tumblr
> 
> ORIGINAL STORY'S POST, on tumblr: playbychoices.tumblr.com/post/180512247016/playbychoices-masterlist-updated-as-of-16
> 
> AO3 services as my back-up account for all my fics on tumblr. I post them there first, and then eventually mass back-up them here. If you want updates on my fics ASAP, send me a message on tumblr to be on my tag-list! I also post fan art there too
> 
> KUDOS ARE VERY KIND BUT REVIEWS MOTIVATE ME


	2. An Impressionable Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An emergency occurs at Edgewater while the adults are away, so Persephone runs to the smartest person she knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU: Persephone was raised by her single father, and has lived with all of the Mills and Marlcasters all her life. However, this world she was born into is not as stable or clear-cut as Persephone once thought her home, or her own family, to be.
> 
> AGES CONTEXT: Persephone is quite the precocious 7 year-old, Ernest is about 14, Edmund 16, and Harry is 6 years old. Considering their ages and its difference, I’ll admit this more of helping foreshadow/build up the budding aspects of a romance between Ernest Sinclair/MC than it is something akin to a 14 year-old kissing a 7 year-old.

* * *

Harry was dead. Or else, he’d die by morning. Persephone wasn’t sure, she didn’t know quite yet. But one would think— by the way her ribcage was tightened like a loaded pistol ready to decimate at the faintest trigger at her own bleeding heart; how Ledford Park wasn’t moving closer to her no matter how hard she willed the Lord to move it, even with all her running tears and silents promises; how she grew more frightened with every branch’s crack and leaf’s crunch, thinking they sounded like the Grim Reaper’s slow, metronomic approach— But one would think she’d be at least certain of one thing: that she was giving it her all to try to stop it. **  
**

At best, Persephone’s darkest thoughts nipped at her her tear-ducts relentlessly, she thought maybe she’d have the comfort she wouldn’t have to see Harry die if he died while Persephone had tried to save him. She couldn’t bare the thought of witnessing such a godless atrocity.

She had no idea if this would work, much less if this was the best course of action she could take. All she knew was two things concerning the matter. First, that as soon she’d thought it, she had started running. And now that she had thought about it, she was already too far in the plan’s commitment to warrant backing out. And the second, that she needed help. Persephone had no rationale, much less commit to its deliberation, as to why she thought of Ernest Sinclair first when she realized she needed someone. …She just had.

So she kept running. She could barely see in the pitch darkness of the night, and she quietly damned herself for the split-decision she had made to cut through the gardens and woods as a shortcut to Ledford. She knew the way, but, still, there was no clear path. She was ultimately glad she had the thought to bring the lantern to light her path, but Persephone would still hiss and cry out in reaction to when the lantern’s hot glass would sway and hit her bare forearm. This could have been better executed had she paused for just a second to ponder how to be most efficient. Persephone could hear her step-mother’s equally as sharp hiss, nearly feel the smack on the back of her head, that Persephone would often “have a thought but never think about it”. **  
**

At the exact same moment of that thought, Persephone stepped on one of her untied shoelaces. In an almost spiritual vengeance, mid-fall, Persephone recalled her initial thought when she stolen a pair Harry’s footwear (it was better made for the circumstances to run than anything of her own) with the mental condition that _‘There’s no time to tie them, just shove them on’._ Persephone made the mistake of gasping upon realizing that she was falling, biting her tongue upon impact. She hit her chin on the ground, littered with hidden rocks and broken branches that stabbed at her like Brutus under a false “plush” blanket of autumn’s dying leaves. Persephone curled into herself as she made attempt to cover her mouth, so as to stifle herself from giving out a scream for the deep cut inflicted on her tongue.

 _‘Harry could be dead any moment now and you think it affordable to spend one laid out amongst the leaves?’_ The Henrietta of her mind chastised. _‘You insolent, selfish Chinese half-devil.’_

Persephone’s anxious panic propelled herself forward at that, a pace so sudden that her feet nearly tripped over themselves and cause another slip. She swallowed the blood she felt bloom across her tongue like a yearly Spring, again and again.

_‘Where have you been hiding this speed? Was the past hours stakes not high enough that you believed a stroll’s pace would suffice? At this rate, God would gift you a mercy to end your adolescence here, so you may burn with your mother rather than have Him allow you the eternal punishment to become worse still and be placed within a different, deeper circle of Hell.’_

At the thought of fire, Persephone checked the lantern; the rib-like bars protruding had protected its glass heart from cracking. Persephone smiled at her moment of good fortune before running off again, glad to not have an instance of being an instrument of destructive chaos like her step-mother had foretold. But that pause didn’t mean Persephone dare pick away at the twigs and leaves she felt prick her scalp or check the skinned knee she could feel a drop of blood drop down, much less dust herself off. She thought for a moment to try to tie her shoelaces to prevent from a repetition of her graceless act, but it would take time to position herself next to her rested lantern to be able to see and then repeat the entire rabbit rhyme she’d need to recite in order to tie her shoes. _‘Perhaps I should throw them off and away to prevent any more tripping’_ but then she thought about all the sharp things she might step on that’d hinder her from being as fast as she already was, _‘Best not’_.

Persephone could hear the bubble of the stream ahead of her. She could only see maybe a foot in front of her, but already she was well aware there was no circumstances where she’d possess enough luck to have guessed the right angle that would have led to her favorite and the easiest series of rocks to jump across. **  
**

She barely had the thought process to think to perhaps stop before she received the cold shock of water surround her heels then fill her shoes before rapidly going further up past her knees, hips, and up to her armpits as she waded through the river creek’s deepest part. Persephone pushed at the current like she would a boy as it tried to get in and stop Persephone from going away from the river bed, tried to peel off her shoes, and pulled up her skirt. She held the lantern up high as she waded across with difficulty, the bottom of the lantern bumping her forehead repeatedly as her free hand searched for the relief of purchase.

She didn’t find any, but she did find relief as the water submitted and weakly fell lower and lower beneath her as she reached the muddy, but waterless, river bank. Now safely out, Persephone had to switch the lantern to her other hand, the lantern’s former master begging for rest and relaxation after so long being upright and at attention. Persephone felt her dress hug and drag persistently at her, chilled to the definition of frigid as it was autumn on land but winter in the water. It was an uncomfortable weight, and one that Persephone thought of tearing away and off as left for dead, a useless hindrance of decorum in the state of an emergency. However, forced with the idea of wasting precious time with such a burial, Persephone allowed the theft of little else than only to better pull her left shoe (though it felt more like a bucket than that) back onto the rest of her foot. When Persephone began ran full steam once more, she felt grateful for every step that caused the water in her shoes to spill out.

But never before had Persephone felt more thankful than when she saw the front hedge of Ledford’s garden. She traced her free arm against the edge in case of missing the main entrance, but it turned out to be unnecessary as she saw the dim light of it— and when she turned the edge to enter through it, the estate itself with the lit lantern at its back door step. With renewed desperation, Persephone barreled down the polished and ergo slippery cobblestone path, narrowing avoiding clipping the edge of the fountain as well as the threat of falling again.

“Ernest!” Persephone threw all but her lantern at the door. “Ernest!” Her voice was cracking, unable to call out the entire name in a single breath. She swung the unlocked service door open, causing an awful slam against the walls. “Help me!” Persephone looked around for the staircase even though her body knew it was on the right at the end of the hall and thus was already running towards it. _‘Second story, on the right, the last door in the hall. Second story, right, last door. Second…’._ She ran up the staircase, and knocked her shoulder against the wall bearing the hall to her right; she pushed off of it to propel faster. “ _Ernest! Please,_ help _me!_ ”

Ernest Sinclair flung open his bedroom door, white knuckled gripping the frame, just in time to be nose to nose with Persephone, but she still accidentally knocked her fist against his breast. His blonde hair was wild, his eyes were blown wide and unfocused, and his chest surged like he had been awoken from a nightmare as bad as the one Persephone was still in.

“Lady Persephone?” He whispered, shoulders and spine growing further unrelaxed as his brow furrowed. He was unrelenting when Persephone pulled at his fingers to follow her. **  
**

“Harry, he’s ill, terribly ill, we need to wake your parents, please—”

“They recently left for London’s Season.” Ernest bowed to her level and put both hands on her shoulders and smoothed down her nightgown’s sleeves to try to calm her— he made a face at the spots of wetness he touched before he noticed the puddles following her—, not even her irses able to stay still for long. “Did your family go as well?”

“Yes!” Persephone started to sob anew, her teeth chattering and her body so abuzz with chills and nerves her fingers started to shake. Ernest squinted and curiously picked two leaves from her hair at the beginning of her speech. “It— It was Edmund’s first, he got asked to the Debutante ball by Theresa an- and he’s the first so they all wanted to go and celebrate and, yes, La— Lady Grandmother stayed but she said she’s never seen a more hellish cough than this, nothing is working, he sounds like a barking animal, and we don’t know what to do so I suggested to run for help an— and—”

Ernest retreated back to his bedroom long before she finished speaking, and Persephone hurried behind him as she continued her panicking babble. He grabbed at a coat to pull on and searched for something else in the same chest. When he found it, he took her lantern from Persephone.

“Please put this on,” Ernest held up one of his greatcoats for her to put her arms through.“You may catch your own death otherwise.”

“Don’t think of me, think of Harry! Please!” However she did snatch the jacket to put on herself, though her haste caused the wool of it to rub and irritate the burns on the inside of her forearm. Persephone bit the inside of her cheek to keep from hissing. Once she put on Ernest’s coat, she felt the air trapped within still and start to warm, and she noticed the cuffs completely passed her fingers and the tail of it was at her Achilles. She lifted the sleeves to look inside the pitch darkness within, unable to see her fingers even when she experimentally wiggled them.

“You both are in need my help currently.” Ernest brought her arms down to better button up the first two buttons for her and pull her hair to be out from the coat. “However, only one of you is in immediacy’s reach. So you’ll forgive me for taking liberties in helping you—” He glanced down and the shadows of her loose laces. Ernest bent down to tie the wet things for her (he was fluent in tying laces; and, as such, he barely needed light, much less a rhyme much to Persephone’s awe), and he winced at the squelch of water in her shoes. There was no time nor place to fix that. “—especially seeing as you specifically asked for such aide.”

Persephone’s face burned with shame, and if she could keep utterly silent as to better fade in the inky shadows dwelling Ernest Sinclair’s bedroom corners she would. But the chattering of her teeth and heave of breath littered the quiet with a ticking anxiety.

Ernest raised himself to his full height, so Persephone was at his heart. “Please take a moment more to compose yourself, Lady Persephone. What’s Harry ill with?” He moved about further into his room to ready to his barest essentials.

“I— I don’t know!” It sounded more like a hurt shriek of an animal than it did words. Persephone took in and out a deep breath at Ernest’s pointed look, though she still did it quickly for Harry’s sake. “He’s coughing and he can’t seem to breathe at times, ch— choking, he’s been choking, it’s awful— horrible, oh, he can scarcely breathe, Ernest— Mr. Sinclair,” She corrected herself, remembering his insistence at formalities as adolescence ended and not wishing to anger whom she was to be asking for help from. “And he’s so _scared_ , he’s utterly terrified.” She couldn’t bring herself to remember the way his hand had raised itself to wordlessly beg for her to come back when she ran out. Persephone had never seen her half-brother scared of anything, much less to such an extremity. “Ernest,” Her voice a wavering whisper, “ _ **Harry**_ is _terrified_.”

Ernest swallowed thickly and looked away briefly. “Before— you said he sounds like he’s barking?” **  
**

“Yes.”

“Would you say it to be akin to a seal?”

“I have no idea what that sounds like. Nor how it could matter! We are in need a doctor, not a— a comparison of your stationary’s stamps!” Persephone stomped her foot.

Ernest thought for a moment. “I’ll assume it to be such then.” He went to the open door frame, “Duke Richards, come quick!” No answer. Ernest went the handful of doors down and threw open the door in a huff, “ _Duke Richards!_ ” Persephone could hear the Duke’s startled gasp and something that was a hiss. “We are in need for your heroics. Get ready to ride to fetch for a doctor to come to Edgewater. I’ll go to the Estate with Lady Persephone. We shall see you when you arrive with him.” A pause. “ _Immediately_ , sir. A child is gravely ill— _dying_ , to be precise.”

Persephone breathed in sharply at the reminder of a potential burial, her eyes stinging suddenly. Harry was only a year younger than her, he was only six years old. None of this made sense: much less the mere concept of putting Harry in the dark, cold, lonely ground; the thought that he wouldn’t be around. He was only six and in so much pain. Where was God’s love in that? It didn’t make sense at all. How could He even threaten to take not only her brother, but her twin in all but mother and date? Persephone’s mind both instantly quieted to a shocked stillness and roared in righteous fury and vengeance.

Ernest turned enough away to grumble a soft string of a curse, alongside a bitter mutter of “Our estate is scarcely a traveler’s inn for you to rest at”. Ernest came back just close just enough to pull at her coat and away from her thoughts. His demeanor changed as he came closer to the girl standing still and staring at the shadowed floorboards. “Please do grab the lantern.” He spoke in the whispered hush one would to shuddering animal in a corner. **  
**

“Th— Thank you, Mr. Sinclair.” She didn’t move.

“Thank me at a later date. Grab the lantern, Lady Persephone.”

 _‘May God forgive me for what I think right now.’_ She looked up at him, making eye contact as new tears fell and stained her raw cheeks. She bit her lip to keep it from quivering and her fisted the edges of her coat to keep them from shaking. _‘Please don’t punish Harry for my own sinful thoughts,_ please _.’_ Ernest opened his mouth to say something and then closed it just before Persephone took hold of the burden’s handle once more.

The moment she took the lantern, Ernest ran with her free hand in his down the hall. He was saying something quick, quiet, and to himself, and it wasn’t until he slammed another door open that she heard the end of it, “Please still be where last I saw you placed.” He left her at the doorframe of the room, stealing the lantern in one motion as he held it up to shelves and shelves. It was a study of some sort, probably his father’s she thought. “Ah, yes! Thank you!” Ernest grabbed a jar. He looked around, spinning in a circle before grabbing the empty linen lunchbag on the table. “Good enough.” He shoved the jar inside as he ran to and then past her. “Lady Persephone,” She followed him as he lead her down the first few steps of stairs. “You are in luck that my father has taken to knowledge of such illnesses like this for his tenants’ children, and even luckier that he has taken me with him to aide him. I’ll do all I can until the doctor arrives, but that will not be until daybreak.” **  
**

He stopped suddenly, listening for something. Persephone was about to speak until his shoulders started to rise; and after a moment he turned halfway around with, his teeth set together. “ _Duke **Richards**!_”

“I refuse to call upon anyone in my _undergarments_ , young Sinclair! Give me a _single_ damn _moment!_ ”

Ernest was eye-level with Persephone on the staircase’s steps and looked at her with a soft, sympathetic expression and whispered, “Maybe even hours after that.”

He handed her the bag and hefty jar as she stepped down his level. “Protect this with your life; do _not_ let it shatter.” Persephone spun the string onto her wrist and hugged the bag with both arms, tightly. Ernest held onto the collar of her coat with his free hand. “Stay close to the light. Keep up with me. With the correct application and amount of time, this may save your brother’s life.”

Persephone put a quieting hand over her mouth as she choked out another sob. Theydescended down the remaining stairs just as the adrenaline in her legs was starting to die and the lead-like weight of them was starting to thrive. At the beginning of her drag, Ernest pulled at her collar to force her to hurry again. **  
**

“I plead for you to be steady for him, Lady Persephone. Save any hysteria for when there’s no work to be done.”

————————————————————————

With his head in her lap, Persephone combed through Harry’s curls with her fingers. She admittingly did so partly to relax him and partly to distract herself from the leeches bobbing on his chest. He was pale, sickly so; incapable of opening his eyes for much more than to flutter back closed; his clearest breaths being high-pitched squeals, and painful to simply listen to and imagine the inflammation. It didn’t feel quite right with the atmosphere. The kitchen was warm due its hearth being lit so as to better heat and reheat a pot of water as steam for Harry to bow above of and breathe in, a pot that was currently just warm and steamless. **  
**

The room was fairly well-lit with additional lanterns, revealing the colorful patterns upon drapery and cushions of the bay window she and Harry were laid out upon. Such a night’s atmosphere would be welcomed as warm, safe, and jovial if she and Harry had been invited down for cups of hot drinks after a nightmare like they had just mere nights ago. But with the image of the frailty of life in her arms, the moonlight shined on the sharp edges and corners of counters as dangerous as a guillotine; the darkest of nights were just behind her, kept seemingly at bay just barely by the window’s thin glass or else sneaking about, spying as they waited, in the kitchen’s darkest of corners and cabinets; she could see the knives dangle and glint aggressively on the walls of the room; the thin length of which ended widely at the bay window, and Persephone brushed Harry’s hair again as she realized its resemblance of a coffin.

Harry wheezed in a breath, an ugly but vocal reminder of his death grip upon his soul. Persephone hated herself for the doubt that nipped at her like an angry dog, such dark thoughts invitation made Harry’s struggle seem vain and useless in the face of death rather than brave, stubborn, and daring— for that’s who her brother was, if she only just believed in him.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” She sniffled, her eyes flickering between the once steaming pot of water she had to hold him over and to looking at his fluttering eyes and beaded brow, “I’m so sorry I cannot help carry you through the pain.”

“You’re helping fairly as is. Keeping him awake and soothed is much more helpful than if he was in to fall into clinical shock, much less if he was to fall unconscious. Treatment would be much more difficult, I believe, without his loved one’s presence for strength.” Ernest slammed each cupboard he looked through. “But I fear I must ask again for certainity’s sake, Lady Persephone, are you still firm that you have no knowledge of the potential whereabouts of a stash of milkweed?”

“Only on the subject of where it grows outside, sparse by our patches of honeysuckle, but I can only find such when I have the daylight to see it.” Persephone looked out the kitchen’s bay window and into the dark, Macbethian night briefly before grabbing a cool, wet cloth to dot her brother’s beaded forehead. “I apologize I can’t be of a better aide to you than I allegedly am already.”

“Dowager Countess,” Ernest opened the dining room’s door without looking at it, much less entering it, “Have you knowledge of it?”

“I told you where the onions are, which you still have yet to bring out despite such directions detailing otherwise.”

“I did so under my awareness that onions upon the feet to cool a fever is an old wives’ tale, Dowager Countess. If there is scientific evidence behind such a thing, I implore you to bring it to my attention again.”

Persephone snickered a laugh, not breaking away from looking at Harry’s face as he coughed again; it was still as dry, repetitive, and nonproductive. Damn. “Harry would have made a jest at that connection.” At Ernest Sinclair’s expression, she clarified with a devilish grin that showed her teeth, “For such a suggestion to come my Lady Grandmother, an old wi—”

Dowager Countess Dominique came into the room. It was scarce, even though she dressed as such at night, that she allowed any but her child and youngest two grandchildren to see her with her hair down. Her brown cardigan-like smock kept her further warm as she bustled into the kitchen with only it and her nightgown, hands burrowed between crossed arms, nearly seeming embarrassed to be seen so casual and vulnerable by Ernest Sinclair as she tucked hair behind her ear. “I would be grateful for you to not speak such ridicules against me for him, Persephone.” She opened the cupboard and brought out a tin container, removing from it a single, partially cut onion. “As for scientific evidence, does the fact that I have the experience of such treatment being practiced and patient’s success of later triumph truly mean so little to someone so young and, well,” She brought out a knife and slammed the cupboard shut with a glare at the young man, _“inexperienced?”_

Ernest Sinclair nodded shallowly and kept his eyes away as she chopped two fresh slices to replace Harry’s old ones. He spoke a quiet chagrin, “I humbly apologize,” before the Dowager walked away, head high. **  
**

“Ernest has experience in this illness though, Lady Grandmother, he had told me he helped his father and tenants with it frequently.” Persephone did nothing to stop her Grandmother from replacing the onions in Harry’s socks. At her quiet glare, Persephone added, “Though I also suppose the application of such information does not hinder any form of treatment, does it, Erne— Mr. Sinclair?”

“Neither does a compromising will in the face of adversary, Lady Persephone.” Ernest stopped as he glanced into the room Dowager Countess Dominique had just exited, the door still swinging back and forth. He held up one of the lanterns, “Is that—” He hurried into the dining room with a laugh. “You _are_ in possession of milkweed!” He brought the dining room’s vase of flowers into the kitchen. He inspected the still white sprigs of flowers fluffing the edges, “And they appear to be in good condition.”

The Dowager Countess quickly hurried back to him. “What can I do?”

“I’ll show you in a moment,” Ernest turned to Persephone, who still held a coughing Harry tightly, “Lady Persephone, if you have not reason to mind, cold air will do him good to breathe.”

“Alright, Harry, I’m right here. I won’t be without you for even a second.” Persephone opened a part of the window behind her, and helped her brother lean his head out of it. His eyes opened briefly at the change as he kept wheezing between coughs. She looked back to Ernest. “If the steam helps… Then should a hot drink not help with the inflammation of the throat as well? I recall being ill myself not long into the past, and from it specifically that Father’s fresh tea helped me when my throat was sore. But that it’d do little, if anything at all, should I forget it and allow it to chill before drinking in the occasions that I had. An- And it shall be a much faster task to heat than this great pot has been, I think.” **  
**

Ernest left the Dowager Countess with his instructions of preparing the milkweed, and took a kettle. Having thrown his coat off long before, he was capable to push his sleeves up again; his outfit and bedhead equally as disjointed and debauched from the pace of the night. But his eyes were a sharp, clear, friendly sight. He flashed Persephone a brief smile of comfort and momentary elation, causing those bluebells to crinkle but his brow was still furrowed. “It would certainly not hurt to try to get him to drink something.”

Persephone waited until Ernest was nearest as he could be to her before she whispered, “Like the onions?”

Ernest glanced back at the Dowager Countess and replied just as soft, nodding with a smirk, “It would likely be more productive than the onions.”

“I do have the sense, not yet being so senile, to remind all involved that I am elderly, not deaf.”

“ _Oooh_ ,” Persephone cooed and for a moment Ernest glared before seeing she was speaking to her brother. He quickly looked away, his shoulders raised stiffly. “Harry, _look_. There’s _owls_. They’re looking this way and everything, _look, look_ , I can see the shine of their eyes and hints of their feathers even due to their closeness to us.” His eyes opened half-way, glazed over in a haze. “Come on, it’s your favorite creature. Such a favor must be a good omen, I think.” The night darkened considerably as clouds covered the light of the moon. The owls shadows seemer to almost snap and devour the owls as the light disappeared. Persephone’s grip on her brother tightened, and she cowered closer to him. “Uhm, c- come now. Let’s come back inside before scaring them off, Harry. We’ll see them again later.” She rushed to shut the window upon bringing Harry back in, clutching him close.

Harry took in a breath quietly, and Persephone made a happy noise, “Yes, like that, Harry. You’re doing so well.” Her fingers brushed along his chest, and she made a disgusted squeal upon feeling she had touched a leech. **  
**

Harry let out a single hoarse laugh before being cut off into another cough. “Per—” Another wheeze. “Persey?”

Persephone kissed his forehead at her nickname. “I’m here, Harry.” Persephone ran her fingers through his curls again. He weakly made move to touch her by throwing his forearm back, but missed widely. Persephone took his hand in her’s. “I’m still here.” She saw Ernest make way with some tea. “Do you think yourself capable of drinking?”

“Persey— my side— ‘n chest— it hur— Pers— ” Harry was cut off again by coughing fit, still as dry and unproductive at removing phlegm as the ones before it. But at hearing the change of casual, continuous coughs turn into a fit of coughs and choking, Persephone screamed.

“ _Harry!_ Ernest, help! He’s choking, Ernest! Help!”

At the shriek’s first syllable, Ernest had surged forward, letting the teacup fall from his hands and shatter beyond repair upon the hardwood. It was demolished into sharp, jagged pieces. It’s side of pristine white china akin to that of a wicked, predatory jaw of the grim. Whilst the floral design on its other side gave a poetic resemblance of look of a flower had been torn to shreds and thus altogether resembled more of vindictive, angry thorns than the roses painted onto it. The spilled tea itself spreading and soaking into the wood like bloodstains. Leaving his collateral damage forgotten, Ernest nearly collided with Persephone as his own panic set in, seeing Persephone curl herself weeping into her brother’s hair as he choked and twitched in her arms. Ernest put one hand on Persephone’s cheek, briefly, to comfort her enough to let go of death drip on her half-brother and to let Ernest carry him away as she wailed. Her arms still reached for him, with the same desperation as if Ernest himself had been replaced with the Grim Reaper, as his heart broke for the dozenth time that night.

“ _Harry!_ No, not Harry too, please God, _no!_ ”

“Persephone!” Dowager Countess habitually scolded, unthinking of the context.

“Dowager Countess!” Ernest’s tone snapped at her, forcing her to focus on him and their shared capabilities still at service. Ernest had already cleared the table half an hour before in case of this. He placed Harry to lay down at the waist to hang off the table and yet not disrupt the leeches, his hands at the boy’s calves. The Dowager Countess stared at her grandson’s body, still wheezing with almost-breaths from the chokage, as a tear ran down her face. Ernest yelled at her this time, “ _M’am!_ Your services!”

“Dear Lord who art in Heaven, please help save this child.” Dowager Countess broke out of her rapt and hurried across the room. She unthinkingly wiped her hands on her dress to be rid of the milkweed before reaching and taking Harry’s feet from Ernest. “Relieve him of his pain, may He alleviate and free this child from suffering…” Dowager Countess Dominique continued, but Ernest was louder. **  
**

“Cough, Harry, _cough!_ ” Ernest pounded on Harry’s back, where the back of his lungs would be. Ernest glanced at Persephone, who had both hands over her mouth, even covering her nose, as her body went into series of trembles. She stared at Harry unblinking as fresh tears ran down her face in the gaps of her hands. Ernest pounded harder, as Harry choked and was strangled by the phlegm for breath. “Cough! _Damn_ it all, Harry! Cough! _Cough!_ ”

Harry was still gagged for breath as he let out one cough, unproductive, so again Ernest pounded and yelled; two coughs, strangled and weak ontop of unproductive, so Ernest continued; three…

Sound went out and all Persephone could hear was the ringing of something akin to sharp bells as her heartbeat thundered like unrelenting, thunderous drums in her ears, overstimulating her to the point of tremors and headaches. She tried to keep herself from screaming further with her hands over her mouth, her tense fingers the only part of her that was steady as she dug into herself further and further. Good. Time slowed, her focus on Ernest Sinclair pounding fist after fist on her brother’s back, Harry’s shirt almost fully unbuttoned to have allowed for those damn leeches. Persephone tried steady her own breathing but she felt suffocated on the millions of years of last breaths within the air. Persephone couldn’t breathe as she imagined Harry’s joining them. Everything felt too hot, too much, the steam, the fire, the wool, the drapery, the plush cushions, all that was once seen as kind and loving snapped at and smothered her like she was to be Desdemona. Nearly every part of her felt tremendously heavy, except her heart which had burst with helium like an untied balloon and stuck itself in her throat. Persephone held her hands tighter to her face, every joint of her fingers pale white as her breathing kept getting faster and shallower, she could barely breathe— no, she couldn’t breathe. She imagined Harry’s illness almost transfer to her, and she welcomed it with fearful but wide arms; that with every loss of her own breath she was gifting him a breath of his own somehow. Good. She couldn’t breathe. Good. Her ribcage surged, confining her heart into a tighter and tighter prison. She clutched onto herself tighter, desperate for some sort of quiet anchor she could be allowed amongst the chaos. Everything felt so heavy. Her anxiety was spiked so high it neared apathy and composure. She saw her vision eb and sway, the corners had darkened, and she imagined God had taken her up on her bargain; a life for a life. **  
**

But then Ernest had stopped pounding. He laid his palms flat on Harry’s back and was shouting something to Persephone, something important, perhaps something that could help save Harry. But all she could think was a quiet, desperate panic at the sight of Harry’s ear lifeless body; all she could hear was the ringing in her ears become more and more aggressive. No longer like a distracting doorbell, but an auditory series of stings from bees.

She didn’t want her life to be without Harry; she had always imagined their deaths being as close as they were in life. She had envisioned falling onto their knees and then chests as they were battle-weary from fighting dragons and saving princess, going down with their pirate ship as co-Captains do, having defeated a witch terrorizing a town as their bodies surged with the fatalities of her curse. She never guessed of illness hitting them, much less only one of them; to die with so much pain and so little glory beside it. No one deserved that, no one deserved that without a hand to hold no less. Especially not Harry, not Harry to face all alone. She had always imagined Death with her hand joined in his, without pain of anything besides heroics, of it as their last adventure together. In the futility of it all, now in that dark place she had never been invited to before, Persephone willed for Harry to live with her, or else have herself die with him.

The forced quiet that had a moment ago been an eye in the storm of the chaos turned against her. There was no sound could be considered good right now, the slightest breakage in the illusion would collapse upon her like fatal debris. It was akin to an earthquake, where a house stopped being a home and instead an area of danger. The full framework of her eyes’ vision blurred and turned black as Persephone shook with the soul of the aforementioned earthquake. Though she couldn’t hear its sound, Ernest slapped the table, and Persephone fumbled weakly in trying to push herself away, making more clumsy motions than results. He was saying something again, as he helped Harry back up, his body heavy and weak. It was like a corpse. Lady Grandmother held Harry’s limp body tightly against her bosom, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his head so he may lay on her shoulder; her eyes were still upwards towards God as she spoke, saying something. Persephone felt herself get dizzier and dizzier, nearly incapable of consciousness as she thought of it again. He looked like a corpse.

But then Harry tiredly raised his hand to hold the back of Lady Grandmother’s. **  
**

Persephone jumped in shock at how in the blink of eye Ernest was now clutching Persephone tightly, wrenching her hands away from her face. Everything washed over the crash of an ocean wave, her body feeling raw as if being burned its salt; all her senses suddenly focused and alert as she gasped for air desperately.

“ _—rsey!_ You’re choking yourself!”

Persephone took in another sharp, shuddering gasp, tears fell from her eyes again as she was unable to stop staring at Harry as he wordlessly and tiredly comforted their Grandmother.

Ernest brushed her hair, stuck against her sweaty skin, away from her face as he looked over her face with the delicacy of a surgeon. Her lips were losing their purple hue, and the color of her cheeks were returning as she took in deep, heaving breaths. He let out a slow, exasperated sigh that stuttered into something like a bitter laugh as he looked her over once more to be sure. He wiped her tears away with his thumbs, and she, being so young and used to casual affection between herself and those close to her— and it’d be foolhardy not to consider an inability to register the simple due to shock—, but Persephone seemed not to register to intimate contact as what it was. But as the sense of emergency dissipated and a sense of decorum returned, Ernest removed himself from touching her altogether. He instead pressed his fist into the cushion and his other hand against the wall beside the bay window. Seeing Persephone still stuttering in shallow breaths, he reminded himself to breathe and be steady in order to better calm her. **  
**

“Breathe, Lady Persephone. Regain your composure. Harry is alive and well now.”

Persephone’s lips trembled, but her eyes were still unfocused. “Alright.”

Ernest wait a moment, studying her before continuing. “Harry’s alright. He coughed out the phlegm that was choking him. His breathing is returning to a more normal rate. He isn’t wheezing. We’ll be removing his leeches next, and his fever should break within the hour or two if we’re lucky— sooner yet if those onions are in fact more than an old wives tale.” He chuckled the last bit quietly, but at Persephone’s hesitating silence he bit his lips and curled his hands to into unaggressive fists.

“I— I apologize, I’m… I am currently incapable of, uhm, of process— H- Harry is?”

“Harry is alright.” Ernest smiled at her kindly, the kind that crinkles his eyes and makes his right dimple show. But he still put a worried hand over her forehead. She doesn’t have a fever. He hurriedly takes it back before any but himself can process the decorum he’s been abandoning these past few moments. “Harry is still in need of a doctor, desperately, Lady Persephone, but I do believe the worst of his illness to be over.”

She nodded slowly, and took in a stuttering breath. Persephone relaxed herself to lean against the wall, and then straightened up again. “M- May I be with him as well?”

Ernest lowered his hand on the wall to better block her in. “You may be with him soon. Let us ensure your health is not also endangered first. Rest for a moment longer, please.”

Persephone nodded, blinking rapidly as she leans back against the wall, hugging her knees. If she must stay here, at least she can look over Ernest’s shoulder and see Lady Grandmother pet at and hold Harry close and soothingly.

Ernest meanwhile keeps his eyes trained on her, watching the color of her face, the rate and depth of her breathing.

“Lady Persephone,” He asks in a hushed tone, “May I ask a favor of you?”

“You saved Harry’s life, Mr. Sinclair.” Persephone doesn’t spare Ernest a glance but she smiles just for him. “If you have a favor to ask in return for it, I’ll commit to anything in your name.”

Ernest hesitated for a moment, thinking of his place, before deciding to abandon it as well, just for a moment. He thinks to blame it on the emergent stress of tonight, if anyone was to confront him. Still, he spoke quickly, “I understand it stems from the lesson that children must be seen and not heard, and that you are a child that is particularly susceptible to being heard in numerous ways— in part because you are passionate.” Ernest tapped his finger against the wall before curling it with the rest of his fingers into a fist. “I— I assume you picked it up from parental instruction to do so to curb that instinct, likely you were taught from the Countess, and, well, I worry that… Well, to get to the brunt of the request: you surely must be aware of that habit you have acquired of covering yourself? To, uh, physically force yourself to be more quiet?”

Her eyes flickered over towards him, narrowing slightly. “What concerning it?”

In such a fetal position and with such a large coat being borrowed, Persephone unknowingly made herself seem even more small to she typically appeared. Sometimes Ernest forgot that despite her self-confidence and stubborn pride, she was still of an age so impressionable. Ernest felt hyper-aware of all conduct he’d ever performed in front of her, suddenly. He bettered his posture.

“Refrain from it altogether.” Ernest pushed himself off the wall so he just stood in front of her. “I understand such a request contradicts your, I assume, step-mother, and perhaps even grandmother’s, teachings. However, on top of concerns for your health having become evident with continuing such a habit— it’s a good thing to be vocal and passionate, and you shouldn’t stifle either in any respect.”

“You ask for that, of all potential things, to be your favor?” Persephone narrowed her eyes with a tired laugh. Ernest smiled at it. “You could ask I ensure Harry, Edmund, and I refrain from torturing you with our inevitable jests and pranks in the future. Or perhaps that I perform some sort of act of public humiliation as punishment for those crimes of teasing against you. I would do it, unquestioningly, I’ll have you know. You performed a great kindness helping out we who have harmed you. I would do whatever you asked in return for this.”

“Of that I have no doubt. I know you to be constantly true to your word, even if it may usually be a word promising vengeance or ridicule.” Ernest ran a hand through his own hair with a laugh, his other hand on his hip; he laughed a little harder when Persephone joined him until the two fell quiet. For a moment of peaceful silence and shared eye-contact, the two just smiled. As if afraid of breaking it, Ernest spoke quietly. “And I thank you for it, Lady Persephone, it’s admirable and rare to find one whom is as honest and honor-bound .” Ernest bowed briefly before continuing, “Which is exactly why I have asked for the favor that I have.”

Persephone leaned a bit more forward with pursed lips, “To clarify: that I refrain from quieting myself? That is all you ask?”

“Yes. Despite where it may sometimes lead you, your passion is admirable and your voice’s opinions are genuine. Those are two innate and rather priceless things in this world, Lady Persephone, I’ve hated to see them vandalized in such a manner as I have been recently. Henceforth, my favor is simply a statemented request that you be both aware and enact my firm believe that both be a good thing to be in possession of, yours including and, sometimes, especially.”

“Mmmn,” Persephone stood up to bypass Ernest in reaching her brother, who upon noticing her had reached a quiet hand out towards his beloved sister. “As you wish, Mr. Sinclair.” She smiled at him devilishly before climbing onto the table Harry was still sitting on. “But, ‘ _henceforth_ ’, I’ll take no amendments!” She cheekily stuck the tip of her tongue out at him, and Ernest stiffened before letting it go and chuckling.

Ernest’s chuckle dissolved into a happiest of smiles. His hands interlocked behind his back as he watched Persephone run across the table to collapse into a passionate embrace with her dear half-brother and grandmother, kissing his hairline as her laughter filled up the room into something now safe and warm.

Ernest shook his head at the scene, his singular dimple showing in the midst of his quiet smile. “And of that, I have none to give.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GIF CREDIT: Me, I made it. The shot is from Anne With An E, Season 1
> 
> ORIGINAL STORY'S POST, on tumblr: playbychoices.tumblr.com/post/180224675541/an-impressionable-cure-ernest-sinclairmc
> 
> AO3 services as my back-up account for all my fics on tumblr. I post them there first, and then eventually mass back-up them here. If you want updates on my fics ASAP, send me a message on tumblr to be on my tag-list! I also post fan art there too.
> 
> KUDOS ARE VERY KIND BUT REVIEWS MOTIVATE ME


	3. Light Reading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Persephone brought over a mystery more curious than her 15 some odd books to Ledford Park out of the blue.
> 
> Alt. title: Ernest Sinclaire is Fucking Touch-Starved (Don't Touch Me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AGES CONTEXT: Persephone/MC is 17ish years old, Ernest is about 24 years old. Age gap means they definitely don’t kiss but you can definitely see that they love each other, regardless of if you perceive it as budding towards romantic yet or still as familial/platonic

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_Knock! Knock! Knock, knock, knock! Knock, knock! Knock,…_ Ernest Sinclaire fumbled with his jacket’s buttons until giving up, muttering incoherencies as he descended down his staircase. He stopped and leaned a hand on its railing as Mrs. Kendalls bustled forward, one hand slapping wrinkles from her skirt and the other hand snapping for the door. “Oh, bless you, Mrs. Kendalls.”

She jerked a quick nod to him before opening and then curtsying at the door, “Hello, welcome to Ledford Estate. Uhm, do you have an appointment, my Lady?”

“Oh, Mrs. Kendalls, what a funny joke. Surely you must know, I only use the front door for your sense of humor.” Persephone’s voice was broken apart in hearty pants.

At the sound of her voice, Ernest leaned so heavily over the railing that one of his legs stuck up in the air. His last occasion of interaction with Edgewater, a mere week ago, had included: Ernest Sinclaire throwing an open bag of flour at Persephone’s half-brother during the sunrise, Ernest chucking various spoons at her step-brother as Edmund ran in an idiotic zig-zag manner, and all whilst Ernest’s face and neck had been painted a rainbow striped-pattern from the brothers’ prank they’d pulled during Ernest’s sleep… So Ernest had assumed he’d be visitorless for a while.

All evidence that was left of the exchange at Ledford was an occasional chip or five of colorful paint that’d come up like dandruff whenever Ernest would muss about with his hair, and Ernest had fought the intense impulse in the face of his visitor to hide or take a dozen more baths to erase the remnants of messiness about his appearance. But, upon seeing a sliver of Persephone from over Mrs. Kendalls’ shoulder, Ernest’s leg came down and he leaned his elbow against the railing, hunched over and relatively relaxed.

Her appearance was near disaster, keeping together just by its metaphorical threads. Chunks of her bun was undone, the frazzled copper waves dripping down her neck and back were stuck to her skin as she breathed slow and heavy. One sleeve of her dress was pushed up past her elbow, the other having fallen back down and there was a thick, foot-high margin of mud on its skirt. Nonetheless, smudges of dirt kissed her cheeks like sunbeams, twigs chaotically pinned up loose strands of hair delicately, as flower petals and leaves alike framed her face in an ethereal, picturesque image of Ernest’s every memory of Persephone. She mouthed a hello up to him, her laugh breathless and quiet, and Ernest’s chest felt warm. The corner of his lips twitched up.

“Uhmmmm,” Persephone glanced back to Mrs. Kendalls who was staring up at Ernest with a raised eyebrow and her mouth slightly ajar. “Mrs. Kendalls? Please, move aside, despite appearing otherwise, this is quite heavy.” Lady Persephone walked around her, readjusting her grip on 15, 20 large and mostly overly ornate books, though a couple under her arm were just leather-bound journals.

Ernest nearly jumped off the staircase, snatching a bit more than half the books as the stack began to tilt. “L-Lady Persephone! I had no idea of your incoming arrival, I apologize.” He struggled to hold so many in just one hand, but Ernest still managed to get one hand free to attempt straightening the remaining books’ covers in Persephone’s arms. His fingers would push the books and then would flinch back away after every momentary press.

“Truly?” She looked back at the entrance Mrs. Kendalls had closed and abandoned the post of with a confused look, “I kicked your door loads to inform you of just that.”

Ernest’s fingers stilled upon the binding. “Lady Persephone,” He looked down at her with a mild glare, “I always do appreciate your intense and constant consideration.”

Persephone’s false act of coyness melted into a fit of genuine giggles. “Oh, Mr. Sinclaire, sometimes it feels like no one understands me quite like yourself.”

“I’d imagine few other people have such a privilege. Or as scuffed a door.” Ernest patted the front of his stack, “Would you care to explain yourself?”

“Ah, you’re curious about the books?”

Ernest’s nose scrunched up as he nodded, “Among other things, yes.”

“I just thought you might be in need of some light reading is all.” She put her chin on top of the seven or so books she still held to keep it better stable. “Your library is this way, correct?” Persephone went up the stairs.

He immediately followed, keeping his face in front of the books so as to watch his step. “La— Lady Persephone,” Ernest Sinclaire would pinch the bridge of his nose if he trusted the books would balance that far. “Lady Persephone, if I didn’t already have the aforementioned privilege of understanding you, I would not dare out you in suggesting: a lady of your caliber shouldn’t stoop to fibbing.”

“Oh good, then you wouldn’t dare.” She drawled, counting doors at the top of the staircase. “Oooh,” She tsked, “Is your library the fourth door or third?”

Ernest tapped his foot, just behind her. “My Lady,—”

“Oh, wait!” She spun a bit too wide and fast, so Ernest grabbed another two more from the top just before they’d fall. Persephone pushed open the door with her back, “I remember now, the door that’s third is Icarus’ bird. Like the ancient Greek stories, ergo like books. Edmund taught me that mnemonic back when I must have been nearly 10, you know. I’m surprised I still remember it, but,” She set her books down like a teacup in its saucer, “I suppose that _is_ the purpose of a mnemonic.”

Ernest Sinclaire dropped his stack of books next to her’s, hands and chin held up high, and lips pursed together in a tight not-smile. The books clattered sloppily onto the table, a few slipping out of the precarious straightness of the stack.

“Ah!” Persephone then slapped a hand against the table, turning to him with her other hand on her hip, “The nerve of you, Mr. Sinclaire! I expected better behavior from you than that.”

“And I expected a better lie being delivered to me than ‘Oh, I just thought you might be in need of some light reading’.” Ernest gestures a hand towards the vast room around them vaguely, “I clearly have more than enough! And am quite capable of acquiring more at my own volition, if I even found it necessary.” He chuckled, wiping his face with both hands, “Don’t tell me,” His face transformed into a sneer, “Do not tell me that you are playing as some sort of distraction for your brothers? Eh?” Ernest found her startled silence to be answer enough and pinched the bridge of his nose, the other kept to his hip for a shaky breath as he muttered, “I should have known better, that they’d drag you back in somehow even after your promise. I have prayed too many nights that you all might finally outgrow these _childish—!”_

Persephone bunched her skirt in her hand as the other gripped onto the table like a vice, her voice quiet. “Mr. Sinclaire, do you honestly think so little of me?”

Ernest wagged a finger towards her. Asking a question in response to a question in itself revealed the answer after all. “Ah, so it is then huh?” He threw both hands up, his smile tight and very unhappy. “They always do this! Your damned brothers would always do this, hence they always will! They always coerce you into this foolish nonsense and twistingly distort my innate affection for you against myself and my better judgment.” He stormed back to the library’s entrance, gripping the doorframe with paling knuckles, “Must we do this once more? Is that blasted game afoot, you immature devils?!”

“Oh, Mr. Sinclaire, do calm yourself!” Persephone whisper-yelled, “They don’t even know I’m here!”

Ernest stilled, his shoulders rising and back stiffening. His cheeks warmed considerably as he continued to grasp the doorframe, though for support now as opposed to something to push off from. “They don’t?”

“No, they do not.” Her arms crossed. “Though they might have an idea as to what trail to follow after all your needless yelling.”

Ernest Sinclaire turned around slowly, stepping further into the hallway. His chest was tight, and he could feel a droplet of sweat drip down his neck. “Uh,… You also came without a chaperone? No carriage outside? Is there anyone expecting you home soon at all? Father, brother, uh, footman?”

She raised an eyebrow. “No one knows I’m here.” Persephone took an experimental step forward, and paused when Ernest an immediate stumble back. “And I walked here on my own, sir.”

Ernest chuckled, the sound coming out choked and stuttering. Hands searching behind him, he found nervous purchase on the railing. “Ah, I see. We should, uh, call for one of my staffmembers then.”

Looking at him up and down with a surprised look, Lady Persphone’s pursed lips slowly spread into something tighter and more indignant. She shook her head, but her smile came back enamored with incredulous giggles all the same as she rubbed her temples. “Oh-ho-ho, Mr. Sinclaire,” She stopped laughing, her smile strained, “Surely, you _cannot_ be—”

“You said you always found Mrs. Kendalls quite humorous just before, we’ll call for her. _Mrs. Kendalls!_ _Come here, please!_ Ah, haha, uhm, _**immediately!”**_

“Mr. Sinclaire, you are thoroughly overreacting.” Persephone scoffed, folding her arms as she walked about the room towards the opposite side from Ernest. “I did not come here to tarnish my reputation, and I have immense faith that you would not even have any interest in me in that way.”

“Lady Persephone, I think you take too much, uh…” Ernest drummed his fingers against the railing. And upon glancing down at his own hand, desperately trying to find something cohesive within himself, he also saw a glimpse of Mrs. Kendall come up from underneath the railing, looking up at him quizzically, and he gestured for her to come up. Ernest released a breath. “I think you take our positions and dynamic for granted quite often.” He let go and stood on his own, watching Persephone carefully as she started pacing alongside her wall. “Regardless of the honor I possess that you feel safe enough to come here completely alone, you ought to understand by now that our lives are not so simple and people will not be nearly as understanding towards you—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mr. Sinclaire, I just came to deliver some books.” Persephone’s lip curled up in a sneer. She held her head up high in a huff, and turned her back on him to finish the first lap of her pacing. She moved slightly to look out the window she was passing, “Honestly, sir, you infuriate me so intensely at… times…” The last word took its time leaving her mouth as she did a double-take and then walked closer to the window, her head cocked. She paused, frozen, before sitting down at the chair before it, the motion being led by using her two hands as the axis, clinging onto the arm rest closest to the window.

“Firstly,” Ernest held up his index finger to Persephone and nodded to Mrs. Kendalls before he entered the room, her following him from close behind. Ernest walked in with his back straight and shoulders perfectly even as Mrs. Kendalls took a seat in the opposite back-corner. “We both know you did not travel all this way for some mere books that I did not ask for nor need.” Ernest walked all the way next to Persephone, measuring each step’s gate and doing his best to be efficient. He put his free hand on the top rail of her chair’s backing and glanced out the window, a beautiful picture of acres of dark-green forest in-between Ledford’s blooming gardens and the rich trails of smoke from all of Edgewater’s chimneys. Ernest looked down at her wiry copper hair. He leaned forward to pick out the twigs, leaves, and flowers in it; but Mrs. Kendalls’ squinted eyes felt heavy on him, like a pair of tight handcuffs, to which Ernest felt the chains of forcing him to be mercilessly jerked away when Mrs. Kendalls tilted her head curiously. Ernest squeezed the chair’s backing and his eyes closed, releasing both with a flutter at the same time. “S-Secondly,” He held up another finger, “you are worrying me with your behavior.” She didn’t look at him, her head rested in her hand towards the window, mouth covered. He leaned in closer, gesturing towards her, “Lady Persephone, this simply isn’t like you.”

She turned towards him, blinking slowly as she put her hands neatly into her lap. Her mouth pursed into something small. _“Oh?”_

Ernest put both hands behind his back and took several steps backwards.

“Is that so, Mr. Sinclaire?” Persephone got up, gesturing to herself vaguely as she scoffed. “ _This_ isn’t like me? What is ‘like me’ then, pray tell?” She barged towards him as he near-dances backwards, stumbling, “My coming to your home unannounced? My walking through nature? My loving possession of books? My desire to donate? Or could it be my witty conversation? My mere and infinitesimal personality itself?” She laughed sarcastically, “Oh, I apologize,” and cut it off like a turn-dial, the fire behind her eyes growing twice her size. “I simply was not made aware of my own complete change of heart. Please, good sir, allow me the grace of fetching a new opinion of you immediately!”

“M- M’am, the trinkets, sir, the—” Mrs. Kendall put both hands up just as Mr. Sinclaire’s back hit the shelf, shaking the knick-knacks that were in front of the books but, thankfully, not toppling any over. Mrs. Kendalls put a hand over her mouth. “Oh, my.”

“Lady Persephone, please, you’re getting hysterical—” Ernest Sinclaire’s hands flew up just before hitting the shelves as she tapped his chest.

Her face was red, eyes watery and wet as her voice cracked like how patience snaps. “Oh! So now I am not allowed to be in possession of emotions either, am I? Oh, well, if I must be silenced, by all means! Allow me to deposit those unseemly things like all else I have so kindly donated to you, in fact, I’ll just slam them down akin to how you did earlier with my books. An occasion to which not only have you still not apologized for, Mr. Sinclaire, but you have also so refrained from apologizing for how you yelled at me so vengefully and without reason. Because that is all proper behavior of a true gentleman, is it not?” Her bottom lip wobbled, and she stepped back to rub her tears away with her thumbs. She looked to Mrs. Kendalls frightened expression with a scoff, and flicks her wrist towards Ernest’s direction, “So the gentleman is encouraged to wear his heart on his sleeve, no apology for interests or self-expression necessary, while I am a ‘hysterical’ terror? How extraneous. How hypocritical.” She whipped her head back to Ernest, her hair becoming looser still from her bun at the motion. In that instant, with both her crazed hair and the smoke behind the window jutting and curling around her head like a broken crown, Ernest saw the Queen of the Underworld concurrent within Persephone. “You call yourself worried for my well-being when there are only pieces of me that you care about.” Persephone’s shaky hand pointed to him and then herself, her teeth set together and bared, “ _You_ overreacted to _nothing_ ; comparatively, _I_ have an _abundance_ of reactive substance of conversation. And you have the blasphemous nerve to accuse I as the one who has acted hysterically.”

Ernest looked at her sympathetically and licked his lips. “You are quite right, Lady Persephone. You are indeed owed several apologies from me for my conduct, but before I repent, I must ask, uhm.” He lowered his hands, eyes flickering between her then back to her books. “…Did …Did something happen?”

“Why, yes, Mr. Sinclaire, thank you for paying attention. What’s happening is that you, good sir, are an insufferably—” Persephone hit a pair of unpassionate fists against his chest, crying. “—incorrigible—” Again. “— prat!” Again. She clung onto his coat in balled fests, her shoulders starting to shake as she’d hiccup and sniffle.

Ernest let her finish and held her hands there, allowing her plenty of room to move away from his hesitant touch. “Did something happen back at Edgewater?”

“What, am I not behaving perfectly?” She yanked herself back, turning her back to him with crossed arms and hunched shoulders. “Must something else have to have happened in order for me to react so justifiably to such unkind things?”

Ernest groaned, flexing his hands in front of him with shut-tight eyes snapping open, “I said no unkind thing to _you_.”

“Oh, you said _multiple_.” She jeered, twisting her head back around to face Ernest as tears started to throw themselves off of her eyelashes. Persephone counted with her fingers, using one hand to bring up each finger of the other, “You only openly referred to me as a liar; slammed my precious books down; yelled at me unreasonably; accused my brothers, my family and heart, of misconduct without evidence; and revere me as some uncontrollable woman of convenience instead of as your childhood friend and neighbor. And yet,” Persephone gestured towards Mrs. Kendalls with the same hand and laughed. It was a bitter, hollow laugh. “And yet you claim to know me.” Her hands lowered, “You claim to know me so well.”

Ernest crossed his arms, his shoulders rising. “You are lying to which then is a cause, your brothers’ _long_ history of bad behavior is evidence enough, and I was simply cautious of your reputation.” Ernest gestured with his palms down, speaking in a quieter tone of voice while his eyes tired to direct Persephone towards Mrs. Kendalls’ presence. “Lady Persephone, you’d do well to consider taking up the cause sometime.”

“Damn my reputation! It never cared about me, so why should I care for it?” Persephone pointed out the window and glared at Ernest like an order to go throw himself out of it.

Ernest closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. Upon opening them and making eye contact with Persephone, he maintained it and breathed in slowly and breathed out even slower. Her breath remained shallow and stuttering, even after a pointed look from him.

He sighed. “My lady,” Ernest brought out a white handkerchief from his breast pocket. “Why must it be so difficult for you to be honest with me?”

Persephone bit her lip and used her hands to wipe away her tear tracks, looking away. Ernest held the handkerchief out still as Persephone shakily released a held-tight and shallow breath as slowly as possible, sounding nearly like an anxious bird’s whistle.

Mrs. Kendalls looked ready to eat her own hand, completely absent of any dinner to have alongside such a show.

Persephone made eye-contact with Ernest finally. His blue-eyed gaze as steady as a stilled lake, and as trained on her as a dog’s, loyal and patient. Persephone looked away to the table on their left, finding the reflection within him to be too upsetting. She couldn’t imagine allowing her own composure to ever be half as generous. With the curl of her fists bunching up her dress, Persephone knew she’d never want it to be. She wanted to have this anger, this red-hot and sacred emotion, and she held onto it tightly. She glanced at Ernest once more through the corner of her eyes, and felt distinctly like a burning man standing at the edge of a dock. As the smoke seeped through her cracks, Persephone’s throat tightened in preparation to choke. Her shaky hand took a hold of the handkerchief and brought it to her mouth only when Ernest let it go.

Ernest thought, briefly, of guiding Persephone back to the seat she once had, now that she’d taken his handkerchief and was finally cleaning her eyes. His hand had even started to rise and fingers drifted towards her. But upon a glimpse towards Mrs. Kendalls, who was leaning so far forward she was nearly out of her seat, he put his hand behind his back and his other hand held its wrist. Ernest grew more rigid in his hunched posture the longer the time passed. He opened his mouth to speak but the last leaf yet to fall between autumn and winter did not shake as heavily as Lady Persephone was, so he bit his lip and thought of no argument against further patience. Slowly, his gaze followed where her’s was lingering so longfully.

The books.

Ernest glanced back over to her, sucking in his bottom lip. He let his hands fall to his sides and carefully approached the table, keeping an eye trained on Persephone in case it upset her. He opened past the ornate, or completely blank for a couple, covers to the simplified repetition of the title within. _A Pocketbook of Mechanical Engineering._ He set it aside for another. _A Steam Engineered Utopia_. Another. _Technological Marvels of Today._ Another. _Industrial Revolutionary Inventions. Machinery Methodology and Their Maxim. A Fine History of Furnaces. Theoretical Transportation for Tomorrow. An Inventor’s Almanac. The Design of Machinery._ And there were more, several more, all the same.

Ernest Sinclaire released his lip and rapped his knuckles against his table. “Have… Have you sincerely read all of these? Cover to cover?” He flipped through the pages; there were notes in the margins, circling, underlining, and both texts read complicated jargon Ernest could only guess the meanings of. “This all seems so complicated, and, uh, that is coming from a politician.” She didn’t laugh at his joke, so Ernest’s chuckle died within a clearing of his throat.

He opened one of the leather-bound kind, paused, and re-opened one of the ornate books.

Same handwriting and incomprehensible vocabulary. But now with the penmanship including drawings, bullet points, question marks, arrows, and close-up designs without any typed text. It was the signature structure of ideas.

Ernest felt a gravity of importance in his hands, like finding lost Da Vinci sketches under his floorboards. He leaned against the table for support as he flips through the other leather bound book, the other journal. “This… It is all yours?” She didn’t answer him besides the renewed sounds of her crying. Ernest looked down at the books, gently caressing one’s binding, holding the eggshells he had been walking on.

He pushed off the table, back straight, and shoulders pulled back as tight as a bow to an arrow. “Lady Persephone, I beg of you to please answer me and to answer me honestly, what’s happened at your estate?”

“I—” Persephone hiccuped into the handkerchief. “I couldn’t carry any more. She— The staff, they— Mr. Woods especially, he— he, uhm, he pretended s-some were— so I tried to— I… I simply couldn’t carry any more.” She she bit into one of a knuckle, tears falling again.

“Mrs. Kendalls,” Ernest didn’t look away, “Please leave us.”

“Of course, I’ll be right outside the hall then, sir.”

“That would be unnecessary, Mrs. Kendalls, but I thank you for the consideration. I am sorry to have forced your hand to leave your duties. You may return to them.”

Mrs. Kendalls looked over between the two, her hand grasping at air instead of the door handle at her first try. Ernest waited until her footsteps have faded away before stepping closer to Persephone.

“Lady Persephone, will you please sit?” Ernest gestured towards the chair by the window. He then shoved his hand back behind him upon seeing Persephone’s hug for herself ball into a tighter shape. “Or stand if you prefer, I did not mean to impose my will onto you. It was simply a suggestion based on how you appear to be—”

She walked past him and collapsed into Mrs. Kendalls’ seat.

Ernest pursed his lips together in a loud smack and looked up at the ceiling, “Alright then. Behave as such.” He turned around to face her, moving slow and showing his hands, palms up, upon getting close. “Lady Persephone, I beg of you to elaborate, please. I don’t quite understand your situation.” He glanced at the books again, “Though I have a couple of theories.”

“I— I just,” She squeezed her fist around her mouth tight before letting it fall and hold onto her other side, hugging herself, “You must understand, the fascination started out innocent and feminine enough, yes? I wanted to know more about my mother. I don’t… I didn’t ever exactly have much to go on.”

Ernest stopped walking, about a yard between them.

“Father talks about her occasionally, when I ask. But he looks so… He just gives me this devastated look, like I bring the pain back anew with every question, so I cannot simply keep asking him. Lord Grandfather and Lady Grandmother would gift these guilty looks too, as though it was my fault somehow? Maybe it was.”

“Lady Persephone, you must know that isn’t true.” One step forward.

“I _know_ that is not the point.”

One step back.

“So I… I figured, well, I have my name. She gave it to me. Persephone. I knew it’s of an ancient Greek goddess, so when I was much younger I looked in our estate’s library for more information about her. Perhaps my mother left notes in the pages, perhaps she dog-eared her favorite page, or one book may be more well-worn than the others or something. I was desperate for anything that would not leave me nonplussed. Something, anything, of mother’s and mine without anyone’s pain muddying it.” Persephone wiped her face with the handkerchief again, really just rubbing her already-red face. “I found stories, ones I really liked, loved even. I fell in love with mythology. It was humanity’s first true attempt at understanding the world we live in, Mr. Sinclaire, and wasn’t it so pretty?” She sniffled, ducking her eyes back down and holding herself a bit tighter.

“Yes.” He felt something in his chest release a bit when she looked back up at him. When she smiled at him, all dewy-eyed in every sense, something envious nipped at his heels and something braver nestled in his chest. Ernest took another step or two forward, fighting back the flush that had crept onto his skin, and sat down in front of her, crossing his legs. “They are quite enchanting stories.”

She inched closer to him. “But they’re more than that, Mr. Sinclaire, they weren’t just stories _then_. It was…” She paused to search for words, leaning her elbows on top of her legs. “It was why the rain would fall, how humanity found fire, why wine tasted so wonderful, why did winter come and go, how come no human looks like any other creature, why couldn’t the sky and earth meet and what would happen if they did. Mr. Sinclaire, they put a god in everything, and gods gave them reasons and science as best as they could fathom. Because there was nothing the gods’ will couldn’t explain away with such fantastical stories, and, even if it was wrong, it was beautiful.” She looked past Ernest, towards her books, and flicked her wrist towards them. “But they were limited; and so was I, for there are only so many ancient Greek gods I could read about before I read them all. So I moved on to more contemporary works.”

“Such as the Bible, no doubt?” Mr. Sinclaire points at all her books, his strained smile relaxing into genuinity when she laughed.

“So I read all the books I could find that told me about the water cycle, about seasons, wine, anatomy— how our world _works_ with what we know now. And it was so interesting to see how far we’ve come that I had to know more. In our library, I found a book or two on current mechanics as to what was upcoming in that respect. And then perhaps ordered a few more of interest. That’s all.” Persephone bunched up the excess of her skirt, “It was innocent, really, nothing concerning.”

“You brought obscenely more than just ‘a few more’ books of interest in the subject,” Ernest laughed, “I’d even dare say you made your own.”

“Mr. Sinclaire, do you think I could be an engineer one day?”

Ernest stopped laughing.

Persephone bit her lip, looking down at her shoes. She laughed nervously and smoothed her skirt back out, “It’s quite alright, Mr. Sinclair, I don’t thin—”

“Lady Persephone, I believe you are capable of making anything golden.” Ernest took in a big breath and held it, waiting for society to crumble. Instead, he was beheld to Persephone’s slow lean towards him, as if she was straining under the weight of perfection but her face looked relieved. He moved from his sitting position to a one-legged kneel. In the consequence of their closeness, Ernest found his own burden of decorum starting to lift. In the loud loneliness of it all, in this lack of chaotic dignity, Ernest shoulders relaxed. The idea occurred then, how good and privileged it must be to feel allowed imperfection. He wondered what such a happy defeat felt like. To let all just be, and appreciate the small wonders. Above all, with the limited but heavily concentrated universe of expectation on her shoulders, Ernest Sinclaire hoped Persephone would be liberated and feel it, again, oh-so very soon.

Finally releasing his heart from suffocation, Ernest held it out to her and listened to its raspy brag. “I believe you are capable of anything, but especially in pursuit of any item that your passion leads you to.” Ernest released his breath, slowly and with a stutter, but still tried on a shaky smile as Persephone’s irises trembled, her body completely still otherwise. “Trust my experience and listen to this, my Lady, because I hope you never forget that there is nothing more tragic than a passion silenced. Any passion, regardless of its gendered traits inherent upon interest.” Glancing aside and nodding seriously to himself with knitted eyebrows, “I’ve always thought… I’ve always known that anything you were to put your mind to… It would astonish us all.”

Ernest skin and bones convulse around his soul, a habitual terror of letting his vulnerabilities be external and allow for others to have the opportunity to treat such a fragile thing so cruelly. But that was her brothers. Ernest Sinclaire reached a hand out, holding onto Persephone’s skirt like he would a sigh. He couldn’t look at her as he did so, waiting for the sharp-toothed snap of consequences. But nonetheless, he persisted and whispered, caressing the fold, “So, yes. Yes, I can see you holding yourself in such a field as engineering better than ‘quite well’; you’d be much more exquisite at it than anyone else I’ve ever known. Especially myself.”

Ernest let go, quickly and reluctantly, when her chair creaked upon the shift of her weight closer to him. He hid the red-hand by rubbing the back of his neck with an embarrassed chuckle, looking down and away. “I am certain that, if you continued to so desire, you would be an astonishing inventor, engineer, whatever pleased you. Whatever you choose to do, there are so many beautiful things you could do with it.” And when he finally looked up, his brow unfurrowing just to look at her kindly, in comfort, it bunched back together in shock. He froze.

New tears had fallen from her face, her lips quivering, “Honest?”

Ernest’s hand fell from his neck, palm open. He was as unsure of this as he was in religion, but even within all those scared questions, everything felt sacred. They were alone but there was a heavy and gentle blanket of unseen witness over them, and Ernest could only hope their whispers under its covers would suffice before the wool was pulled back from their eyes. He smiled with sympathetic uncertainty, “When have you known me to be anything but?”

“Oh, Mr. Sinclaire!” Persephone jumped from her chair onto his lap, causing him to fall back down onto his bottom. She held Ernest tight and cried into his shoulders, breaching his deep and lonely exile with the gentle touch of a bonfire. “Mr. Sinclaire, she’s making them send me away!”

Ernest’s hands had flown up to try to catch her in fright, but his hands now stayed in the air in a very different sort of terror. His entire body felt hot and cold at the same time, the air itself suddenly tangible and dripping with static as he was frozen in its heatwave. The areas of their skin touching felt scalding in the most pleasant sort of way as Ernest Sinclaire desperately tried to remember how exactly to function under the thermal shock. He felt all of himself start to melt in her arms, and dear lord, what a hellish sort of heaven it was to be invited into. “I, uhm, p-pardon?”

“My step-mother, she told them of— of my secret purchasing, oh, they had said I wouldn’t have to go to Finishing School unless I wanted, but she made Lord Grandfather and Lady Grandmother think me awful and destitute without it! Because even a whisper of a rumor of a female engineer could decimate any attempts of marrying me off and— and now I have to go away to convert better into a proper wife but I’ll die if I go, Ernest! They hit students at those schools; and girls can be so cruel, so much crueler than boys; and I’ll be far away from you and Harry and father and Mundsy! I love learning with you all, even when it’s in secret, but how could I learn so much math and science and other beautiful things in such a hellish, unfeeling place? None of what I love is part of being a wife! I won’t survive, I just won’t be able to there!” 

Persephone clung onto his clothes, clutching onto the fabric tightly into her white-knuckled hands as her body burst with sobs. “Father and Harry tried to stop her because they knew a bit of it, and Mr. Woods tried to pretend they were his own out of kindred sympathy, but the Countess convinced Lord Grandfather, so none could do anything because she found my journals of drawings and inventions, my notes, and she took the copies I had made from Harry and Edmund’s textbooks, oh, she’s making the staff burn so many of my things! I just had to hide what I could of my books! I’m sorry I fibbed, I’m so sorry, I was just frightened, I— I was just so frightened, please forgive me, I never meant to I lie to you, I’m so very sorry—!”

“Shh, shh, there’s nothing in that to forgive.” Ernest’s hands lowered, flinching when he touched her at first before gently holding her. They swayed, relaxing and spilling into each other’s crevices like a perfect match. “You’re alright now, you’re safe here, I promise.”

“Don’t let her get any more of my books, please, don’t let her if she asks, she’s already taken so much.”

“I’d never. They’ll be as safe at Ledford as if they were my own.” Ernest hesitatingly petted her hair with one hand, readjusting his grip to allow her to fall into him a bit more comfortably. His back relaxed, hunching over her slightly; and her neck was bared against the slope of his heart, holding onto his closest hand to push closer into herself. If she’d be safer within him, if she would allow Ernest to receive all the blows and gift him her soul to lie next to his own lonely one, then Ernest would find that to be an acceptable arrangement. “Bring here whatever else you want out of her grasp, anything at all. I won’t hand them over to anyone but you until you return from Finishing School, safe, sound, and perfectly yourself, alright?”

At the lack of her response, Ernest separated from her slightly. Just enough to face her. The sight of her broken state near broke him as well. Ernest took a sharp breath in like a hiss of pain, and a hand flew to cup her cheek, brushing aside the wetness in hopes of also catching the despair. “Ledford Park is your sanctuary any time you desire it, you know? Surely you must know by now. I know your loved ones were forced to be powerless, but your step-mother has no such domain here. You are safe, all of you is. I promise you, Persephone, I promise.” He kept uttering them again and again, “All of you is safe here, forever, I promise,” hoping he’d find the right words somewhere in such simple promises as letting someone be themselves. “All of you, Persey.” Something, anything, that’d take the broken pieces in her eyes, the shards of her heart melting into tears, and the red blotchiness of her soul’s blood on her cheeks; something that’d take all those broken pieces and restore them back to her, whole and magnificent once again. “I promise you, all of you is loved.”

Half-angry, half-terrified, and completely raw to the touch, she breathed. “Truly?”

“There’s never been a more beautiful truth.” Ernest tentatively moved her hair out of her face, his hands trembling. It’d been years since his parents died; it’d been years since Ernest Sinclaire last sincerely touched someone so, and even longer still without a break-down upon a deathbed involved. His laughter is as shaky as his hands, his brow messily purled, and he cannot tell anymore how close is too close; he is uncertain to physicality, yes, but there isn’t any quivering when one heart touches another. “Who has had the privilege to understand you… that doesn’t just _adore_ you?”

And in that moment, in that whisper of a moment— “Oh, Mr. Sinclaire,” She gasped —it felt like he’d gotten some piece of it right, making every terrified second of uncertainty worth all its agonization. He pushed her hair out of her eyes, rubbing her cheek with pure, honest, steady affection.

“Oh, Mr. Sinclaire,” She pulled his face to her’s with her arms around his neck, their foreheads touching, as she laughed something broken and hopeful and beautiful all the same. “Bless you, oh, bless you, that’s all I ever wanted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GIF CREDIT: @thylaas, tumblr
> 
> ORIGINAL STORY'S POST, on tumblr: playbychoices.tumblr.com/post/183112029501/light-reading-ernest-sinclaire-x-mc
> 
> AO3 services as my back-up account for all my fics on tumblr. I post them there first, and then eventually mass back-up them here. If you want updates on my fics ASAP, send me a message on tumblr to be on my tag-list! I also post fan art there too
> 
> KUDOS ARE VERY KIND BUT REVIEWS MOTIVATE ME


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